


Warm On My Fingertips

by cosmic_interference



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Childhood Friends, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mind the Tags, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Trauma, Unplanned Pregnancy, author has issues with organized religion, brief mentions of miscarriage, please be advised
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-07-31 18:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20119291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmic_interference/pseuds/cosmic_interference
Summary: The sun had been beating harshly down that day, and his skin could not handle that heat. His back was hot and his words were a leaden weight on his tongue as she watched him with sad eyes that never changed.She said she couldn’t.Because she was promised to another. Ben was furious but he didn’t argue. He kicked the sand hard as he cursed the wind, the rolling waves catching the sounds he made as he turned back to see her one last time — wishing he could have known then how to save her. Why he should have.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all. As you have surely seen the tags, I would just like to iterate that the tags will be exactly what the story will contain. Some of it will only be implied but I understand that's still off-putting for some. 
> 
> I had to debate with myself as to whether or not I should post this. From here on out, if you are also religious or subscribe to any kind of religion, this is your warning to turn back now. This will contain mentions of religion and faith, too, as well as life in an organized religion based on the author's experiences. 
> 
> For those who are miraculously still here, I thank you very much.

Ben saw her at the bar for the first time in years. 

He swore he’d never felt like his heart was breaking again. Memories of the warm summer sun on his skin as he held her hand on a beach when they were 16 just so he could have something to stare at when he finally confessed everything. 

The sun had been beating harshly down that day, and his skin could not handle that heat. His back was hot and his words were a leaden weight on his tongue as she watched him with sad eyes that never changed. 

She said she couldn’t. 

Because she was promised to another. Ben was furious but he didn’t argue. He kicked the sand hard as he cursed the wind, the rolling waves catching the sounds he made as he turned back to see her one last time — wishing he could have known then how to save her. Why he should have. 

Instead, he strained and struggled with memories frozen in their childhood. Rey outrunning every other varsity player in the field and still having time enough to teach him about pre-calculus in the afternoons. Rey dancing, having fun only when it was allowed. 

And now she stood there, surrounded by men and women she seemed to be discussing something deeply personal with her. Maybe he should just stay where he was, go back to his apartment for the night. 

But those were days in the past and Ben Solo was no longer that scrawny 16-year-old who looked at her like she hung the stars. 

He shuffled quietly in the direction of her small huddle, making himself small out of instinct, lest she noticed him moseying on over like some kind of weirdo. 

His heart rate picked up when she looked up, ever-bright smile dealing a dangerous blow to his heart. He’d missed her so much. 

The man immediately before him was talking, and when Ben strained to make out the sentences as discreetly as he could, he picked up alarming words and phrases such as “touch you”, “make you feel good”, and all manner of bodily pleasure they could think of. 

Furious for no other reason than the fact that Rey seemed to be taking the propositions toward her in stride, Ben pulled her away from the small crowd, wondering why she tugged her arm back and a small smile spread across her lips. 

“I’m fine. Mister…?” 

Ben blinked. How long had it been really? And how come it was only him who remembered?


	2. Unworthy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Implied Past Sexual Abuse

It was a warm summer when he’d first seen Rey. There was a rumor among the congregation that someone wanted to pull in more young people to serve in the church. His mother said it was a good idea. His father agreed. Even if the idea turned out to be that younger members of the church suggested Christian hip-hop was the new bait to draw children and teens into organized religion. 

She was there, destined for greatness as Ben watched her every move from the sidelines just before the band came to rehearse. He memorized the curve of her form to the beat, watched her fingers ease in and out of balled fists, followed the twirl of her hair, imagining the sweat on her neck must smell so much like her. 

As far as Ben was concerned, no one was around. His mother could be around pestering the tech team in the back and asking Donny to change the slides again so the song lyrics would pop out more but he wouldn’t care—hardly any of it mattered when Rey was here. 

Quiet and a little bookish, he always watched when she sat quietly on the stage each day before rehearsal. Heart hammering in his chest, he mustered the will to come close, until another guy beat him and crushed dreams of meeting the dancer girl and watching that slow smile spread for him. 

In retreats and baptisms, he was there, that man, firmly with his hand on her hip now as the church celebrated. He was older and the car outside was proof, but she danced as much as she could to the congregation, even in the final moments that he contemplated maybe he could tell her before he left. 

Tell her the guy with his arm around her was bad news. That many in the church had already seen him fooling around with the little girls who still felt like to be with God meant to be with him. 

Tell her the guy was the sole purpose the church had lost some believers and how he’d demonized them.  _ Unworthy _ , what a cruel word to toss around and use as a standard for holding people accountable. 

Tell her he’d even seen with his own eyes how this man had pushed back when a girl came forward to tell the congregation about how he barged in the designated fitting rooms in the middle of the Birth of Jesus play to pretend like he cared so much about the actresses performances, he made them do it before him. 

He never did. 

He never did because she looked happy. She looked wanted. She looked like she was the best she’d ever been in the longest time since he’d seen her move her body to the first Christian song he ever fell in love with and had now come to resent— _ Majesty.  _

She’d danced to the beat of his heart, not knowing the pair of his eyes only existed to honor her. Alighting on her bare feet all around, he watched as she charmed the congregation. 

_ Your grace has found me just as I am.  _

Nestled in that teeming group of parents and old-timers swayed by the siren call of the cross before them, Ben watched in silence and quiet pining as she turned around for the briefest moment and looked his way like she knew him from a different life. And he wanted this to be a different life where she wanted to be whisked away and he wanted to take her. 

They watched her quite like one would watch a beautiful bird in a cage and she moved like she knew which places to hold the bars, knew where her limits were because here there were too many. There were the elders telling her the performance of pure grace should not have been approved because it was not beautiful and pleasing to the Lord. There were children who were much too young being barred from interacting with her simply because they saw, and they talk, about that one time she’d laughed over communion wine and kissed the guy she was with on the cheeks. 

Repercussions were fast and it made him leave it all behind, finding solace in his isolation and the grip of regret at leaving the bird that was Rey firmly caged in her own mind. 

* * *

Years after that, he catapulted himself into a career and a name he’d carved in the wood to match. Success was an understatement, the happiness of striving is a powerful drug, a reminder that he could have—should have—done this years ago when he had the chance. 

His mother called and the old coot of a father he had posted poorly-edited religious quotes with drop shadows and blocky texts and cryptic versed that Ben could care less about now. 

But he’d never forgotten her. 

He never forgot how little they talked, how he’d loved her only from afar because honor was something only projected to women in this place, not with the men who were supposed to protect them. 

He had a vision she’d end up with a life someday, or a job at the next wider town where she could talk about Calculus, where she could smile and where she could act the way she wanted, and not dance just because the beats sounded. She was beautiful and earth-shattering in ways the church will always bury deep. There was no room for that. 

He just hoped she got out, too. 

He just hoped when she did, that he could say for sure that she’d shed her feathers in her previous cage. But when he came back, it broke him to see it. 

Her body was already used to the cage. 

This is where he moved. Where he asked her because it was better than hunting down the cause behind the welts, the cause behind the tears, the cause behind the tremble that wasn’t there before. She just laughed, beautiful, beautiful Rey, captive in a pretty cage and saying in a refrain that she wanted this. That she wanted it because God wanted it of her, because it was her sworn duty to a husband who never cared. 

Ben left before he could watch her open her mouth to the symphony of more lies. He hated that he hadn’t saved her, hated that he had to live with the knowledge that she could have flown free. 

* * *

He still wanted to save her. Still wanted to make sure she was here with him instead of there, anywhere, everywhere that wasn’t here and  _ now _ . How does it never occur to her? How does she never see? Or maybe it’s never been opaque, maybe it was just the way she’d known to live her life since then?

It was like they were never 16. Like she’d deliberately hated everything there was to know about how Ben felt for her. 

Now, she was here, still with the sad eyes, and a group of expectant men and women were staring and staring and she asked to be excused and then she was tugging him close, kissing him. He flinched and moved away, the lightness in his head at the wrongness of that kiss washing away the peels of laughter in the background. 

“What happened to you, Rey?”


	3. Unspoken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: Mentions of Sexual Abuse, Mentions of Miscarriage, Dubious Consent (on both parties), Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mentions of Drugging 
> 
> This chapter is all just so... heavy.

Life had a funny way of throwing one in a situation that connected them to a past they wanted to forget. 

Standing in front of Rey’s door now, he thought of that. How sweet, cruel fate brought him out of his decent life just so this woman could come around and break into it all over again—over the life he convinced himself he liked. 

And he did. 

He did. 

Mostly. 

The door was mahogany. Worn, polished wrought iron numbers stared at him in the face. 205. No sound could be heard from inside even as he slowly rapped on the door. Utter quiet. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone. Maybe it was a mistake taking her up on the offer that she promised she’d tell him everything that had happened in the years he would never admit he spent just thinking about her. 

About all the beautiful things she’d done before everything came crashing around her. 

But he didn’t have time to do that now because she was swinging the door open with deafening quiet, not saying hello in greeting or ushering him in. So he stood there, held in place by her fatigued gaze and the smell of iron on her skin. She was wearing a long-sleeved shirt. 

“Ben.” 

“Do you want something to eat?” 

“I–“ that seemed to startle her enough that her eyes blinked once, twice, before she brought her fingers to her lips. They were pink and chapped and swollen. And the swell reached her eyes, puffed up, hair mussed in a pony and her body smelling like days-old perspiration. 

He didn’t care. He’d stay here and make her eat even if it meant repeating himself. “Do you want something to eat, Rey?” 

She hesitated some more, turning quickly around before facing him again. The worry etched in her face made him step back. It was like she was measuring her options in the next minute, taking stock of the space around her almost like she was seeing it for the first time. And then fresh tears were coming, and then she was schooling her face into serious confusion, eyes darting back and forth between the paper bags he was holding and the small countertop a little by the door. 

Slow evening light crawled into the little corners of her apartment, and in the darkness beyond where she was nestled comfortably, her back became awash with the harsh orange light of the lampost. She was like a specter, like a forbidden secret that Ben was keeping from the rest of the world. And maybe he wanted to do that so badly. Wanted to make sure she was alright and happy for a while, even if he had to make it so himself. 

She stood there completely still and even when Ben finally walked inside to put the groceries on the countertop, she stayed rooted in her spot, hugging the baggy poncho around her like a shield, tired eyes scanning each product he set down. 

He tried gesturing her over but she only looked ahead, almost like he was never there, like she’d simply forgotten the past tense few seconds. 

“Rey?” 

“Set the food down there. And. And bring me some water.” Her voice was quiet around the syllables. 

“There’s a chair here.” She blinked at his voice. He lowered it, softly, gently, easing her in from what kind of place she was in right now. “You’ll be more comfortable here.” 

The seconds ticked by with no response from her and Ben had the vague sense of not breathing. Until she moved. Slowly. Slowly. Until she was holding the back of a chair away from him with her fingers. 

“Will you… will you tell me what happened?” 

“I invite people over.” Her eyes were glassy. 

“Invite people.” 

“To touch them.” 

_ Make you feel good.  _ The words rattled in his brain. “What do you mean, touch them?” 

“I want… to know what it feels like… to touch someone.” 

“Were those people… are they going to come here tonight for that?” 

“Not— not tonight.” 

“Oh.” Oh because it sounded wrong before, just as much as it was now. But Rey was looking at him with the same empty eyes he knew he always knew he shouldn’t have abandoned. 

Only he could understand her, only he listened to her nerd out when they were kids and only he held her gaze in dejection back then as he was holding it now in possessiveness. 

She pulled the chair. “I want… to know what it feels like… to touch someone because I want to.” 

“How do you meet them?” 

“How do I…” 

Vaguely, he wondered if maybe she had been using. Nothing in her eyes clued him in, although perhaps that was only because he didn’t know what signs to look for in the first place. 

She moved like she was going to break, her arms stilted twigs that reached for a can of beans, admiring the label. She was sweating under the poncho, the place was entirely too humid, but she didn’t seem to mind the sheen of sweat and streaks of tears making her face shiny. 

“Rey?”

“I meet them. There. At the bar. Maz helps.” 

“Do you trust them?” 

“What?” She was blinking at him again like he’d been speaking another language. He swallowed.  _ What happened to you? _

“These men and women: do you trust them?” 

“I… just touch them.” 

Frustrated, Ben suppressed a shaky sigh, trying to understand, trying to see a pattern, desperate for it to make sense— when she drew close and snuck delicate, shaking fingers in his hair. This was where she lost the fear in her eyes, how she began moving with more purpose, almost as if it calmed her to interact with a human being this way. He shivered when her fingernails dug into his scalp to drag and she pressed herself behind him on the chair where he sat. 

_ “You meet the person destined for you under God’s grace, in His perfect timing,” _ she spoke quietly, rooting around in his hair. “I have already met mine. And now I am nothing.” 

“Rey—“

“Have you met yours, Benny?” It was so softly said, so warm in her voice that Ben pretended they were back in that summer still, so she could be different.  _ Not like this _ . 

“No.” 

She hummed, a smile in her voice. “My husband didn’t like me touching.” 

A nail down his nape. “When you held my hand at that beach and poured your heart out to me, he showed me just how much God hated that. God hated wives who were devoted to anything other than their husbands.” 

“Rey, did he… did he molest you?” 

His words made her stop and her hands retreated but he didn’t turn around, waiting, instead, for her snuffles to pass, for wet fingers to return to his hair.

“He loves me.” 

“God, or your husband?” 

“Both.” 

“Bullshit. They’re not here.” 

“Don’t say that.” She pulled his hair and he had to rip away. Standing like this, he watched her break anew. 

“Rey, you have to get help.” 

“No.”

_ “Please.” _

“No! I can do it! I can… _ I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” _

“Rey, listen to me—“

“Get out!” 

* * *

The bar was the same as how he left it, the events of the past 24 hours being the only different thing. Now, as the afternoon crowd began occupying the place for some much needed post-work drinks, the bar owner Maz was a little more visible. She was a small woman, but the way she stared down a burly man for slamming a whiskey glass on the counter it broke was a sight to behold. 

He needed to get to her first, he thought, if he was going to crack through Rey’s thick, looming walls. Forbidding would be such an appropriate word for how tense Maz stared him down, too. The burly man was only so glad that Maz had taken on a different man of the hour. 

“I knew you were coming back,” she said, wiping her forehead off a light sheen of sweat. “Are you a touch-starved potential lunatic?” 

Ben’s eyebrows met. “What does that mean?” 

“It means you can’t see Rey unless you make sure you’re not going to hurt her.”

Touched-starved. 

And he was. Only for Rey. Only ever for Rey. 

“I’m not touch-starved.”

“Are you going to use this as an excuse to play around with a girl who’s had enough bullshit?”

In the time it took for Maz to say that, a man with cropped hair and angry eyes had come through the bar door, looking steadily at him with what looked like takeout in his hand. Slowly, this man advanced, keeping his eyes on Ben even as he greeted Maz. 

“What’s for dinner?” Maz asked the man. 

“Roasted chicken.” 

“Yours?”

“No. We just bought it.” The man said, settling the bag down and turning to Ben. “Who are you and how dare you come to Rey’s place?” 

So he knew. This must be one of Rey’s friends. Or one of those in the circle of men and women he saw with her the other day.

“I know her.”

“How?” 

“I grew up in church with her.”

The man looked at Maz, both of them not liking that answer. “Did you come here to bring her back to that bastard?” 

His eyebrows met. “What bastard?” 

“He’d been looking for her since she left. Are you here to bring her back?” 

Suddenly defensive, he shook his head. “No. No! Believe me, I know she’s safer here than she will ever be anywhere else.” 

The man was still hesitant. He knew what cautious curiosity looked like; it was the same expression he had when he saw Rey’s sweat-drenched hair and her poor attempt at hiding her slender forearms with a sweater. 

“Has she told you?” 

“Told me what?”

“Why she… touches people?” 

He had the distinct feeling they share the same thoughts about that odd fact. Although he couldn’t be so sure. 

“No.” 

“It’s to help her heal.” 

“Heal?” 

The man sighed, the hard set of defensiveness that made his facial features hostile a while ago dissolving into something far more human. Hurt. 

“Her husband abused her for so long. She’s trying to find a way to heal. To be able to do things her way, whenever she wants to, without other people abusing her to get her to stop wanting anything other than that son of a bitch of a husband of hers. If I could get my hands on that man, I would beat him bloody until they take me away; anything to get back at all the years Rey lost when he’d drug her.” 

It was like being poured over the head with a bucket of ice. “What?” 

“You really don’t know, do you?” 

Maz looked at him, sorrowful. 

The man spoke again. “Maz was part of her church and left. She took Rey with her when she came back one day to see her husband… hurting her. She’s been hiding here ever since and we’ve been protecting her from people who might bring her back. Her husband is still on the prowl, saying some bullshit about it being God’s will. The entire church is on the crusade, too. They’re convinced they want to find her because it will be ‘pleasing to the Lord.’” 

He wasn’t surprised. “You can’t just keep her here forever.” That’s when he remembered how frail she looked, how she might really need help. “And you can’t just… indulge what she’s doing. You have to convince her to get professional help.” 

“We can’t.” 

Ben was getting irritated. It was the best course of action, why were they dismissing it? “You can’t or you won’t? She’s only going to hurt more and one day she’ll wake up and regret what she’d done. All because you couldn’t just help her by doing the right thing.”

“Maybe. But we can only help her if she accepts it. And that’s better than Rey accepting no help at all.” 

* * *

The building was dark again when he went up to her apartment, her door drenched in the same angry orange of the street lamp as her living room was. But what displaced him was the slightly ajar door — and the sounds of Christian songs coming from inside sang in Rey’s broken notes. 

_ “My chains are gone.” _

Suddenly, his mind went into overdrive. Has he come back? Like Finn said? Did someone get to her before he did? Was she touching someone else? And why was she singing? 

_ “I’ve been set free.” _

In quiet irritation, he pushed the door, on high alert. 

_ “My God, my savior has ransomed me.” _

There Rey laid, alone, the sounds of her singing accompanied by the squelch of her–

“Rey?” He asked, horrified at having to walk in on her like this. She flinched, but then her heart turned slowly, eyes set in pure horror. She was naked, he noticed now, scarred arms exposed to him. She scrambled to stand, trying desperately to hide her body in shame. 

“Rey! It’s… it’s fine! I’m just going to leave— I—“

“Hate me. You hate me.” Her eyes were frantic. 

“No, I don’t. The door was ajar and I was scared someone might have gotten to you and hurt you.” 

She seemed to relax at that, regard him slowly. His gaze stuck to her face, he watched as her eyes changed again. Like the first time he was here, she walked in soft little steps. Her eyes were glassy. 

“You’ve caught me…  _ that won’t do _ .” 

“Rey?” 

“ _ It simply won’t do. You can’t do this Rey, it’s against the teachings of the church.”  _

“Rey, what are you—“

Her fingers landed on his belt buckle and he dropped the container with a loud thud but she didn’t seem to care, eyes trained on the shiny metal and transfixed. When she looked up at him as she pushed the erection that had formed, he was ashamed — but she was delighted. But when she talked again, it wasn’t her. 

“ _ You are not allowed to pleasure yourself unless I say so. Now, you will be punished.”  _

Before he could get a handle on the situation, she dived in to kiss him, like that first night at the bar. He froze, aroused, confused and absolutely  _ murderous _ . What had that bastard done? 

Rey popped his belt open and he panted when she let go of his lips. He had to stop this. He  _ had  _ to. It wasn’t right. But it  _ felt _ right. It felt like all the wasted years between them, all that time he’d wanted her and never had the strength to fight for her. 

He shook his head as his cock was freed into the air.  _ No _ . This was saving her, he thought in his lust-addled mind. Then after this, they would talk, yes—

“Yes—“ he shuddered when she hollowed her cheeks, her eyes closed and her throat so relaxed he could push all the way in with so much ease. 

He didn’t want to think why that was, didn’t want to think how many times she’d probably done this as some sort of atonement. 

As she continued to swirl her tongue, his whole body hummed. Not being able to take it, he gathered her hair up and held her in place, fucking into her as she took him so well. So, so well. 

He came within moments, with her empty hazel eyes once again. 

As he helped her up, her face was already soft, sated somehow by what she’d done. 

In the haze of his residual lust, he pushed wet strands of hair on her forehead out of the way so he could kiss her temple. 

“Why did you do that?” 

“I’m supposed to.” 

“You’re not. You’re not obligated to do that, Rey. Not even for your husband. Not even for me.” 

“You were upset. I’ve made you upset.” 

Her face was filled with confusion. “And you caught me.” She said in terrifying monotone. “ _ That won’t do— _ “

“Stop. Stop talking like that. Was that what he made you do? Suck him off when he saw you pleasuring yourself?” 

She blinked, her consciousness dipping in and out of that place again. Ben’s cock was still out, having gone limp, but he could care less about that as he watched Rey’s face change again, growing even more distressed. Her eyes began to well. 

“I— I don’t want… anything else other than my-my husband.” 

“Did he tell you that?” 

She nodded. 

“What about what  _ you _ want?” 

“What I—“ she looked puzzled, and then she grinned. “Don’t be silly.” 

Giggling to herself, she continued. “There’s nothing I want more than my husband.” 

“I think you do want something else. Tell me, Rey. Tell me what  _ you _ want.” 

“M-me?” 

“Yes. You. Rey.” 

She blinked again. “Rey…”

“Yes,” he repeated, gently ushering her into what he assumed was her room. Her bed was small and messy, the blankets were tousled and the pillows were on the floor. 

“Rey,” she said as she sat down, her eyes falling to half-mast when the softness of the bed met her buttocks. “What Rey wants…”

He tucked his cock inside, taking his tie off to loosen the buttons of his dress shirt. And then he held the side of her head and urged her to lie down. She complied, curling up instantly. 

“Rey wants…” She mumbled softly. “To be an engineer.” 

He felt himself smile, kneeling beside her on the floor and tucking her greasy hair behind her ears. “What else?” 

“Rey wants… children. Who are not dead.” 

His chest tightened. “I’m sorry, Rey.” 

But she was slowly smiling. “Rey wants… to go back to the beach.” 

He chuckled softly. “We will go there.” 

“Rey wants… Ben Solo.” 

He was supposed to be the literate one, the one who was no longer under some kind of spell. In this moment, he was instead her willing servant. He listened to her voice like he was born to do so, and when she cried happy tears, he made sure he felt that, too. 

“Why?” His voice quiet, only a little above a whisper. 

“Rey wants Ben Solo. Rey misses the beach. Rey misses his confession. And right now—“ she choked, voice breaking anew. “Right now, she’s still dreaming of him.” 

“I’m here.” He urged, cupping her cheek. “I’m here. Ben Solo.” 

He was crying now, too, the timbre of his voice deepening and the words from his mouth coming out sluggishly. 

She shook her head, nuzzling her nose to his warm palm. “He was the only good thing. Rey remembers him so well — as she is now. Because in her dreams, he looked so real. In her dreams, he was right there beside him, never letting go. He always watched her. Differently. Than the whole congregation.” 

Everything was silent after that, the kind of deafening silence that hurts your head. Rey had drifted off to sleep and Ben was at a loss for words. Time froze as he looked at her, innocent and calm in her sleep, and wondered just how much pain she might have been under while being with her husband. 

He thought about his job, his life, his desire to leave everything behind. Rationalized that he couldn’t have known. He couldn’t have realized how much suffering she’d have to live through. 

He blamed himself, either way. 

He’d seen it coming but he did nothing. 

Now here she was, thinking about him in her sleep and him taking his pleasure from her like he said he never would. 

He couldn’t bear to leave her alone either. Not after what had happened. And so he snuck on her bed, careful not to jostle her too much, and tried to ignore the pangs of pain shooting through his heart as his fingers brushed her scars. 


End file.
